


Directives

by komoribee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Canon-Typical Violence, Confusion, F/M, Female Protagonist, Female!Reader - Freeform, First Meetings, Friendship, I'm Bad At Tagging, Interrogation, Memory Alteration, Multi, Omnics, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Female Character, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, omnic!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 08:37:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16512962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komoribee/pseuds/komoribee
Summary: "Everything was muddy; colours blurred into each other and sounds seemed tinny and far away. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling were too bright for your bogged-down mind. You attempted to turn away, unsuccessfully. The cold table underneath you seemed to suddenly materialize itself, heavy restraints binding you to it’s surface and preventing any movement. Realistically, it must have been there the whole time-- but you had been too distracted to notice it until now that you struggled against it.“Identify yourself.” The voice repeated. “What is your main directive?”"reader is an "omnic" who's been wiped, and left for dead. fortunately, she's stumbled upon by some overwatch agents during a mission, and is taken back to base to be rehabilitated from her inactive state and probed for info. Unfortunately, she can't remember anything. But that won't last long.





	Directives

**Author's Note:**

> First fic and first draft so pls be gentle! 
> 
> Some chapters may be short -- planning on updating regularly (once/twice a week)
> 
> If you like it, kudos/comment! thank u for reading <3

“-entify yourself. What is your main directive?”

Your lights had flickered to life long before you had, blinking haphazardly. The connections were twitchy and unreliable after such a long period of inactivity, but at least they worked. Your consciousness (if you could call it that) was slower to catch up-- You only vaguely recognized someone had been speaking, while your internal systems prioritized your safety, and struggled to grasp your surroundings and confirm that you had not woken up in combat or a hostile situation.

Your processors suddenly whirred to life, an unpleasant wake-up call, as you were flooded with external sensations. 

Everything was muddy; colours blurred into each other and sounds seemed tinny and far away. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling were too bright for your bogged-down mind. You attempted to turn away, unsuccessfully. The cold table underneath you seemed to suddenly materialize itself, heavy restraints binding you to it’s surface and preventing any movement. Realistically, it must have been there the whole time-- but you had been too distracted to notice it until now that you struggled against it.

“Identify yourself.” The voice repeated. “What is your main directive?” 

The man standing in front of you was large. Intimidating. Clad in heavy, black armour. A soldier, something in the recesses of your memory suggested. He seemed annoyed at having to repeat himself, but you had no answer for him. Your mind was blank, like a slate wiped clean, and his simple questions felt painfully invasive. 

Identify yourself. Who are you? Where were you? What is your main directive? Who were these people? How did you get here? You didn’t know what was happening. 

You tried to speak, a pitiful moan coming out in the place of actual words. It sounded strangely distorted, like a old broadcast on a broken radio.

Another man seemed to appear out of the corner of your vision. This one smaller. Angular and thin. Dressed casually in a button-up and khakis, like a civilian. He seemed unhappy. An understatement, possibly. “Commander Reyes!” He very nearly snarled, “I’ve told you already, they aren’t ready for this kind of interrogation. They’re only barely functional as it is. You’re going to overwhelm their system, and I just managed to get it working.” 

The large man, the Commander, seemed to ignore the smaller man’s hostility entirely. Perhaps they were particularly familiar with each other, for him to be allowed to speak to his superior in such a manner. You didn’t understand why, but the insubordination made you inexplicably anxious. 

“Why has it taken this long in the first place, Agent Geroux?” The commander questioned, looking at him critically. “You don’t normally need this much time to do simple repairs.” 

Agent Geroux looked appalled, “Simple repairs!” he exclaimed. "Didn't you read my reports?" Reyes looked at him blankly and Geroux scowled, but conceded. “I nearly had to recreate their entire mainframe myself. They came to me with almost all of their data erased, and the rest corrupted and inaccessible. Even their basic programming, the walk and talk type stuff-- all tampered with." He approached you casually, looking you up and down in a way that seemed proud. He patted your shoulder gently, like he was comforting a wild animal. Your sensors lit up at the contact. “It was total overkill." He continued, looking back to Reyes. "Someone really wanted them out of commission, which is insane, because they’re one of the most advanced AI’s I’ve ever had the chance to work on. Their programming is ridiculously complicated, I've never seen anything like it. I can't imagine how much went into building them.” He paused, seeming to realize that he was rambling on. "Anyways, I managed to fill in the gaps in most of their simpler programming. The really complicated stuff-- their intelligence, their personality, basically, wasn’t damaged too badly, most of it was still intact. A good thing, because I don’t think I would’ve been able to fix that.”

Reyes looked unfazed by the information, if anything, more concerned now, his sharp gaze returning to you. He took a few steps forward, and you forced yourself to still in your bonds. Not that they allowed you much room to move, as it was. You didn't want to seem uncooperative. 

“Identify yourself. What is your main directive?” He insisted once more, patience wearing thin. Trying to speak, the action felt foreign and far-away. Had you been inactive for so long? It was like trying to wade through quicksand to complete simple tasks. 

You finally managed to force out an answer. “She.” you said, simulated voice shaky, but identifiable as feminine. “I’m not a them, I’m a she. ” You grasped for anything else you could give him, any information that might appease the large man who looked like he was about ready to throw you in a landfill and let you rot. Rust. You would rust. You needed to be helpful. You didn't want to die. Could you die, in this body? Your body? 

"I can't remember who I am. I cannot identify myself. I have no directive. I have nothing."


End file.
